


Condescension

by Origamidragons



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Ancestors, Gen, Sadstuck, Slavery, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Origamidragons/pseuds/Origamidragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You are the Condesce and you are dying.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Condescension

_You are the Condesce and you are dying._

You slowly bring your fingers to your laboring chest and they come away fuchsia and wet with royal blood. The blade slid cleanly through your spine and your body went numb and limp beneath your chest, forcing you to fold to the ground. You slice your fingertips on the edge. Your vision is going dark.

You remember when this all started.

_You are two sweeps old._ The Demoness is visiting you for the first time. She sweeps in the door of your hive uninvited and you are about to tell her off (you are the Heiress after all, and she is a lowly rustblood) when she slams the door behind her and you suddenly realize this is no ordinary rustblood.

She is cold and stern and tells you that there is a plan for you, there are events that you will set in motion, and if you obey her you can save your race. You love your people, even if you don't want to rule them, and so you agree. She doesn't smile (she never does) but you think she might be pleased. The two of you talk long into the night, and she has you repeat the instructions back until you know them by heart.

The first thing you must do is feed your lusus.

_You are three sweeps old._ You have already killed enough that it doesn't matter anymore. Your lusus is hungry, hungry, always hungry, and the Demoness has made it very clear the consequences if she is not fed. By the time you are four, you stop crying yourself to sleep, stop staining your pillow with tyrian tears.

You know you have to be Empress. The Demoness has told you it is the only way you can have the power to save your race. You don't want it, but you will take it. You are doing the right thing. You are doing the right thing.

You... you are doing the right thing.

_You are seven sweeps old_ and you are staring at the blood on your hands, on your trident, absolutely everywhere except where it is supposed to be and you have killed before but this is different because it is the same color as your own. The old Empress is lying dead a few feet away, sprawled on her stomach with three holes perforating her torso and you have enough time to think numbly _that's no way for a queen to die_ before grey hands are picking you up and placing her bloody crown on your head and _you don't want it._

Hail to the queen.

_You are ten sweeps old_ and you were not made to rule. The Demoness tells you that order must be absolute, that the hemospectrum must be strictly enforced and your people must be afraid or there will be chaos and your planet will fall to ruin. You argue and fight and then there is _pain pain pain yes yes i'll do it just STOP_ and she nods and the pain is gone and you change the law with angry tears slipping down your cheeks.

Sometimes you stare up at the pink moon floating serenely in Alternia's blood-soaked sky and dream of freedom.

_You are thirty-six sweeps old_ and you have stopped listening. All your people do is cry, cry, cry. A healthy amount of them have settled into their places and realized their purposes, but a vocal minority is still protesting and it makes you grit your teeth because they _just don't appreciate_ that you're trying to _help_ them. You're trying to _save_ them. It has been made very clear to you the consequences if you do not obey. Deadly clear.

You grab your fork and go hunting for rebels. Your lusus needs to eat, after all. It's for the greater good.

_You are seventy-one sweeps old_ and you just tortured the Signless to death.

( _Kankri, his name was Kankri, Kankri Vantas, he had a name and he was protecting your people from you and you killed him you_ monster.)

The Dolorosa goes to the slave ships, her jade robes in rags and her hair dirty and dull. The Disciple to the one Executor that you knew couldn't do the job. And the Psiioniic...

Most of the time the engine drowns out his screams. Mostly. You wad your pillow around your ears at night so you don't have to hear them. You wish you could let him die, but the Demoness comes at night, purring that _examples must be made, and he will come in handy_ , and the words are broken when she whispers them and you don't see the rusty tears on her cheeks, and you never wanted this.

_You are four hundred sweeps old_ and your planet is dead. The Helmsman hangs limp, dead of overexertion (it was all you could do for him, and at least now he gets to be free unlike you), and you land your ship on the pink moon you used to dream of fleeing to because to land on the planet now would be instant death. You fall to your knees amidst the lunar dustscape and cry for the first time in six hundred years.

You don't know how long you lay like that before static runs over your skin and you look up with glassy fuchsia eyes and see the Demoness floating there and all you know is _rage, die you lying bitch die die die look what you made me do_ and-

And then you're standing there, shoulders heaving, your trident smeared with her blood, and she grins up at you with a swollen face and whispers through bloody teeth.

_Kill me._

So you do, and then the chain clamps shut around your neck and Lord English laughs and laughs and laughs.

_Your name is Meenah Peixes, and you never wanted this._

**Author's Note:**

> I love Condy and my goal here was to see if I could make a plausible canon-ish story that makes her sympathetic. ...how'd I do?


End file.
